


Taking Out the Trash

by glocktopus



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Arguing Over Pizza, Gen, Hanging Out, Logistics, Nonbinary Character, Waste Management Systems, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 08:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17978219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glocktopus/pseuds/glocktopus
Summary: Why can't you eat your pizza like a normal person?





	Taking Out the Trash

It’s a balmy Thursday evening close to summer’s end, and the three agents are gathered around the dining room table in Sango’s apartment, half-empty pizza boxes and bottles of soda scattered on the surface. All of the windows are open, letting in both the fresh air and the sound of cicadas buzzing in the nearby park.

“-so Morphe dumped his favourite nail polish in the toilet and gave me the password to the store’s social media account.” Eight says, picking a chunk of pineapple off his pizza and popping it in his mouth. “That’s why he was crying when he answered the door-”

“Oh my cod, why can’t you eat your pizza like a normal person?” Yelle interrupts, leaning her chair back in disgust. “It’s bad enough that you put _fruit_ on it, but like- ugh.”

“...What’s wrong with eating it like this?”

“Uh, _everything_?”

Sango wordlessly pulls out their phone, ignoring the other two agents.

“A pizza isn’t a sandwich cookie, you don’t eat it in _layers_.”

“I like eating it this way, though.”

“But it’s _wrong_.”

“Doesn’t one of Prince’s friends dip his pizza in milk?” Sango ask mildly, still scrolling through their phone. Yelle lets out a wail of despair and lunges across the table, nearly knocking over an open bottle of Inka-Cola as she grabs an untouched piece of pizza. She holds it up, grease dripping off the tip and onto the table as she jabs it in Eight’s direction, expression manic.

“Okay, watch carefully. _This_ is how you eat a pizza!”

Sango quietly opens the camera app and begins recording.

She's about halfway through the slice when Eight's ears perk up and his head swivels towards the window. “Hey. Hey, wait, shut up.” He shoves his hand at Yelle’s face, cutting off her over-exaggerated display and smearing pizza sauce everywhere. “Do you hear that?”

All three agents pause. Through the window the cicadas continue their relentless buzzing, and there’s some shouting from kids down in the park, and-

“-I’m not just hearing things again, am I?”

“What, the music? No.” Sango stops the recording and turns their phone off, chair scraping across the floor as they stand abruptly. They grab the pizza boxes and begin sliding the slices off onto the plates, rapidly folding the cardboard before tearing it along the seams. “You’re not hallucinating, Eight. It’s the garbage truck. Yelle, put the pizza down and get the trash bin.” They pause. “ _Please_.”

Yelle slaps the mangled slice of pizza down on her plate and vaults out of her chair, following Sango into the kitchen. Eight remains at the table, staring after the Inklings with his brow furrowed. “The garbage truck...is _singing_?”

Yelle wrestles Sango’s trash out of the bin. The bag is blue and marked with some sort of official-looking seal; Yelle hefts it over her shoulder and grins. “Yeah, they play different songs depending on the season. I think you can vote for new songs on the Department of Waste Management’s website, but I think only really old people do that. That’s why all the music’s from like, Cap’n Cuttlefish’s time.” Sango carefully places the deconstructed pizza boxes into one the recycling bins before cinching the bag and removing it - it’s identical to the trash bag, but a bright green instead of blue. “...What, are you lot too fancy for trash trucks up in Pearl and Marina’s neighbourhood?”

“Ah-”

“The trucks run on different schedules in different neighbourhoods.” Sango says. “Tuesdays and Thursdays at seven here. Might be different where Eight lives.” They give Yelle a Look and walk over to Eight, holding out the green bag. “Here. I’ll take down the plastics if you take the papers. You can see the the truck up close.”

They slip into their shoes and head out, the music - an old song, one Sango doesn’t recognise but Yelle insists used to play on the radio when she was a kid - growing louder. It’s a siren song for the residents of Flounder Heights; they emerge slowly from their apartments in slippers and bathrobes, clutching bags of trash and recyclables and heading down the stairs towards the access road in front of the park. Sango points out the leasing office - “They used to hold turf wars up on the roof, kept everyone up all night during Splatfests” - and they join the crowd on the sidewalk, resting the bags on the ground.

“The truck’s not gonna stay very long.” Sango says. “Trash goes in the back.” Yelle nudges the blue bag with her foot, grinning widely. “Paper recyclables go in the green bin, and plastic recyclables go in the orange bin. Both of those are hooked on the tailgate, and if you have any questions there’s a few volunteers who ride on the truck to help. Just...stick with us, everyone’s going to rush the truck as soon as it pulls up. I always wait until it’s about to leave and toss the bags in.”

“Uh, okay.” Eight loops the drawstring of the green bag around his wrist. The music swells and a truck roughly the same shade of yellow as their hero suits rounds the corner. The same seal on the trash bags is emblazoned on the side - Inkopolis City Department of Waste Management. The crowd immediately surges forward, bags held aloft. “What happens if I miss?”

“Then you get to pick a bunch of trash off the ground.” Yelle says. “Let’s go!”

“I just said to wai- nevermind.” Sango sighs as Yelle whoops and leaps into the crowd, weaving between an elderly pair of seahorses as the truck comes to a stop. She spins the trash bag around her head before letting it fly, cheering as it arcs perfectly into the back of the truck. The uniformed jellyfish hanging off the back applauds.

“Showoff,” Sango mutters.

Yelle stays near the truck, doing a weird little jog in place as the rest of the Flounder Heights residents take turns throwing their trash into the truck. The jellyfish volunteer occasionally stretches out an arm to assist someone, rerouting a bag or giving extra lift for a particularly full one. Eventually the crowd begins to thin as people head back to their homes and Sango nudges Eight, picking up the orange bag and heading towards the truck.

“Toss it! TOSS IT!” Yelle shouts. “C’mon! I know you two can aim!”

“ _Yelle_ -”

“No, I can throw it. I’ve made harder shots.” Eight slips the drawstring off his wrist and lifts the bag, backing up a little and eyeing the distance to the green bin on the back of the truck. The music plays on, a cheery little jingle. Eight winds up, leans back, and-

The bag sails neatly into the bin, the plastic within jangling as it settles. The jellyfish waves their arms in celebration.

“Nice! Sango, you’re up!”

Sango sighs, rolls their eyes, and walks up to the back of the truck. They neatly place the green bag into the bin and turn to give Yelle a pointed look.

“Aww, _lame_.”

The truck beeps once and pulls away, the jellyfish on the back waving goodbye. The three agents follow the last straggling residents back to the apartment block and up the stairs, Yelle still ribbing Sango. Eight pauses just outside Sango’s door, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

“Hey, Sango. Um...thanks for- thanks.” 

Sango stops, but doesn’t turn around. “Not a problem,” they mutter. “Get in here before Yelle sabotages your pizza.” An insulted “ _HEY_!” comes from the direction of the kitchen. “You can finish telling us about your boss’s weird roommate before I walk you all to the train station.”

“...Yeah. Okay.”

Down in the park, the cicadas continue their song, buzzing in harmony with the distant melody of the garbage trucks.

**Author's Note:**

> you get one guess as to which of prince's friends is the milk dipper.
> 
> the inspiration for inkopolis' singing garbage trucks comes from the real waste management system of taiwan! if you'd like to learn more, i originally heard about the system from [episode 213 of the podcast 99% invisible, separation anxiety](https://99percentinvisible.org/episode/separation-anxiety/).


End file.
